I will still be here, stargazing
After moments of torching the gate hinges, Iskra paused to inspect them further. A smile touched his features, satisfied with the job of his abilities as the hinges swung free and easy again. The gratitude of those eagerly awaiting the use of that path is one he nods to with a careful smile and a lift of his hand, not used to the feeling of being instrumental in something, least of all via magic. It'd been not so long ago that he'd felt incapable of managing even this, his fire likened to a candle skimming callouses. Even now, he's still reaching to improve it, but it feels better with every use, as if he can sense a ceiling about to break and give way to full competency.
Whistling Goose to join him, the dog having fucked off to chase a ningo, the pair slips through the gate and joins Deimos and Marcus. He glances over as Marcus works his shoulder, and too intent on his own dilemma with ice, he'd not paid much mind to their work and all the struggle Marcus had faced. He's pulled back to the list though, as Deimos explains and in return Iskra nods. "Those bakers are doing the work of gods, the least we could do is help out."
He reaches for a shovel from the supplies arranged nearby. His fire would only turn the snow into ice, or a puddle with any luck, pouring straight into the bakery. So, manual labor it is.
Grunting, Iskra drives his shovel into the mound, heaving it to the designated area. Goose, finds this the perfect place to stand, teeth flashing as he tries to snap at the stray pieces. As Iskra works, he glances up at Marcus. "You good?" Iskra queries, asking after his shoulder.
Iskra digs at the snow
Whistling Goose to join him, the dog having fucked off to chase a ningo, the pair slips through the gate and joins Deimos and Marcus. He glances over as Marcus works his shoulder, and too intent on his own dilemma with ice, he'd not paid much mind to their work and all the struggle Marcus had faced. He's pulled back to the list though, as Deimos explains and in return Iskra nods. "Those bakers are doing the work of gods, the least we could do is help out."
He reaches for a shovel from the supplies arranged nearby. His fire would only turn the snow into ice, or a puddle with any luck, pouring straight into the bakery. So, manual labor it is.
Grunting, Iskra drives his shovel into the mound, heaving it to the designated area. Goose, finds this the perfect place to stand, teeth flashing as he tries to snap at the stray pieces. As Iskra works, he glances up at Marcus. "You good?" Iskra queries, asking after his shoulder.
Iskra digs at the snow
Iskra
